Thursday, 28 April 2011

I dwell in the forest
Amidst the oak, birch and ash
Branches and roots intertwine at the hollow of a tree
Where a nuthatch drinks from a shallow pool of water
Beyond the enclosure of trees are open fields
Where wildflowers, primroses and dandelions grow
A swift fox emerges from the tall grass
Its gaze transfixed on a juvenile rabbit
Two tawny owls swoop close to the ground
Keen eyes watching for movement in the rushes
And a flock of rooks startle the tranquil sky
Ebon silhouettes against the hues of sunset
My sanctuary is a treasure trove
Furnished with feathers, acorns and a carpet of moss
A cloak of leaves keeps me warm at eventide
When I embrace my faerie disguise

There is a leaf carved in wood, this is the trail that leads to the bluebell glade... Bluebells have sprung early this year, a sea of amethyst, lilac and deep violet blue scattered between trees and crooked pathways. Light dances in the thick of the trees; evergreen oak, beech, willow and English oak. Cobwebs hang from dragon shaped branches, dewy webs with critters dangling on gossamer threads.
A trickling stream weaves its way towards the lake where a graceful swan watches from afar. There is a stately home in the distance with views of fields and the surrounding land. The water is beautiful and serene, overgrown with water lilies, pondweeds and water starwort. The lake seems unfathomable, perhaps an Asrai dwells beneath the reeds and algae.

A giant tree with a faerie door lies ahead, vast enough to house a whole tribe of woodland faeries. I imagine there to be a spiral staircase with hallways leading to the kitchens, bedrooms and library. And an observatory on the highest branch where a wise old owl and raven keep a vigilant gaze over the majestic land.

Bluebells bask in a patch of warm sunlight at the waters edge and the remains of a bird carcass is laid to rest on the bed of the stream. At the boundary of the wood, horses/mule drink from the small watering hole.

Tales From The Dryad Forest

You may find me frolicking in the forest, dancing amongst the bluebells or by the sea; exploring caves and watching the waves tumble against the shore.
I like to photograph the world, paint, write and create things, and escape to realms created by storytellers.
I believe in magick and faery tales, myths, folklore and the paranormal.

Online Wanderings

~

Come away O human child!
To the waters and the wild,
With a faery hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping,
than you can understand.

W.B. Yeats ~ The Stolen Child

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine;
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,
Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight.

William Shakespeare ~ A Midsummer Night's Dream

~

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful - a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

John Keats ~ La Belle Dame Sans Merci

Far over the misty mountains cold,
To dungeons deep and caverns old,
We must away ere break of day,
To seek the pale enchanted gold.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells,
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells...